


Heat Wave

by ohmybgosh



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Public Sex, angsty, dumb ice cream flavors, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: “I told you,” Steve began breathlessly. “You can’t come to work - ”“Mmmm.” Billy’s lips brushed Steve’s collar bone, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. “Want to me to go?”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 181
Collections: Harringrove Week of Love, harringrove for Australia





	Heat Wave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avalonlights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonlights/gifts).



> For avalonlights, who requested the accidental confession prompt for HWOL <3 thank you so so much for participating I hope you love it!

The worst thing about working at Scoops Ahoy, apart from the knowledge that he was  _ indeed  _ working at Scoops Ahoy, had to be the 90 degree days. The mall was hell no matter what, but when it was sweltering outside, too hot to even spend the day at the Hawkins community pool, people avoided the blistering sun in favor of the vast air-conditioned mall. And when it was that hot outside people had one thing on their mind, apart from seeking out air-conditioning: ice cream. 

The summer of 1985 was a hot one, hotter than Hawkins had seen in a decade, according to WHR 97.1, which cautioned the residents to stay inside as much as possible and bathe in sunscreen if not. The last few weeks of June, especially, were hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, to bake cookies on the dashboard. Which meant Scoops Ahoy had been overcrowded and, in Steve’s opinion, quite awful. 

One particular day in late June, a Saturday with the peak of the heat wave rolling in at 96 degrees, the ice cream shop bustled with sweaty teens and harassed looking parents with wailing children. The radio buzzed behind the counter, a barely audible hum over the chaos within the tiny storefront. Equipped with a pair of latex gloves and his ice cream scooper, Steve tuned out the cacophony of sweaty and irate customers, the raucous laughing from outside the shop that echoed within the infinite confines of the Starcourt Mall, and the faint carnival music from a kiddie ride outside that sometimes got stuck in his head. He focused on Robin’s voice, clear and concise and brimming with customer service. 

“Two scoops of Peppermint Ship in a cup - chocolate sprinkles, you got it - and anything else? No? That’ll be $2.50, thank you!”

Steve scooped steadily. After an hour, his arm started to cramp. Another hour, his hands were sweating so much in the gloves that the latex stuck to his skin like a slimy second layer. One more hour, and the ice cream buckets blurred together and he swore he could scoop with his eyes closed and get each flavor right. 

The queue, thankfully, had died down towards the end of the afternoon. Steve was elbow deep in Pecan Praline Pirate, one scoop into a cup for an old lady who stood smiling beside her granddaughter, who was already smearing Mint Chip Shipwreck all over her face from a cone far too big for her, when he heard Robin’s voice. 

“Welcome to, oh, um hi,” she cleared her throat and Steve could hear the discomfort in her tone; he plopped the Pecan Praline Pirate into a cup and snatched a spoon and shoved that in before popping up from behind the counter, the hair on the back of his neck standing up on high alert. 

“Scoops Ahoy,” Robin finished, regaining her voice. “What can I get for you?”

“How much for a scoop of Harrington?”

Steve groaned. He passed the cup of Pirate to the grandmother - “Have a  _ swashbuckling _ day” - and reluctantly faced the counter. 

He groaned. The smell of suntan lotion cut sharply into the sweet smell of ice cream, like a knife through butter. 

“Hi,” he said shortly. 

Robin turned to Steve, sizing him up. “I don’t know. Dingus, how much do you go for?”

Steve elbowed her, gentle, but catching her side, breaking off her chuckle. She shoved him back. 

Billy Hargrove, standing on the opposite side of the counter, wearing his stupid lobster red swim trunks, even stupider pair of sandals, and his white life guarding tank top, barked out a laugh. He clutched his black sunglasses in one hand. 

“Who’s this?” He eyed Robin, a mean curiosity glinting in his blue eyes, and from the way Billy’s lips twitched at the corner Steve could hear the implication:  _ I like her.  _

“No one,” he said, and at the same time Robin said “Robin.”

Steve instinctually stepped to the side, closer to Robin and shielding her a fraction from Billy Hargrove’s gaze, but Robin was able to stand up for herself, could come out of a fight better than Steve. 

“We had Algebra together last year. But you were never there, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. How’d you do on the final?” 

Steve grinned at her. 

Billy licked his lips, narrowing his eyes at Robin, but otherwise turned away from her and back to Steve. 

“When do you get off, Harrington?” Billy asked, twirling his sunglasses around his forefinger. 

Steve looked at the clock on the wall behind him, shaped like a pirate ship’s steering wheel. It was only three. 

“Not til eight.”

“Bummer.” Billy was doing that thing he did, that unbreakable eye contact, the quirk of a smirk touching his mouth. Steve swallowed, his body felt suddenly too hot. Billy stuck one tip of his sunglasses in his mouth, sucking on it. 

“I have, ah,” he faltered, heart pounding fast and causing his throat to close up briefly. It wasn’t smart, not to do this here. It was against the rules, the scant few they had, and yet… “A break, I haven’t taken mine.”

He glanced first around the shop, which lulled with only a handful of customers, already halfway through their cones and sundaes, and then at Robin. She raised a suspicious eyebrow at him but shrugged. 

“You should take your half hour. I can man the helm.” 

Billy’s blue eyes flicked between the pair of them, soaking in Steve’s discomfort like a greedy sponge. 

“Great, thank you.” Steve peeled off his gloves, throwing them into the garbage. His hands felt sweatier than normal, traitorous palms. He shrugged out of his apron, tossing that and his Scoops Ahoy sailors cap into a corner behind the counter. He stepped around the partition, closer to Billy, the smell of chemical coconut nearly suffocating now. 

“I’ll be back. Do you, um, want a soda or coffee or something?” 

Robin shook her head. She looked strange, smaller and far off from this unfamiliar side of the counter, behind the thick frosted glass of the ice cream display. Steve had a sudden urge to run back around the counter and pick up his scooper and forgot his allotted break time and stay in the boring safety of Scoops with Robin, listening to her analyze the customers like an undercover cop or let her blindfold him and feed him the grossest concoction of unpairable flavors and toppings she could come up with, just to laugh as he gagged and tried to guess what god awful flavors he’d just tasted. 

But Billy shifted, his arm brushing Steve, too hot from the day spent in the sun, hard bicep against Steve’s. 

So instead he followed Billy, out of the cool, sweet smelling safety of the ice cream shop and into the wild of the mall, trailing behind Billy. 

Billy strode with haste, as if an internal clock counted down the minutes in his heart. Steve followed, jogging to keep up, and Billy led him down a side hall, bypassing the men’s bathroom and trailing further still down the hallway which lights dimmed and flickered as they went. He slowed at a door marked supply closet, spinning around. 

Steve took a step back, heart pounding, and Billy pressed forward, crowding into Steve’s personal space, pushing until Steve’s back hit the cold wall. 

Billy nudged Steve’s legs open with his knee, thigh pressing into Steve’s sailor shorts, strong hands undoing the ascot around Steve’s neck to loosen his uniform. 

“I told you,” Steve began breathlessly. “You can’t come to work - ”

“Mmmm.” Billy’s lips brushed Steve’s collar bone, sending a shiver down Steve’s spine. “Want to me to go?” 

Billy’s breath, hot, too hot like his sun kissed skin, left goosebumps in its wake. He paused at Steve’s ear, nipping him, before facing him, pressing their forehead together and taking in a deep breath, as if he’d spent too long underwater and Steve was a necessary gulp of fresh air. 

Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s waist, clutching his thin white tank top tight. It had soaked through with sweat against Billy’s back, and was now cooling in the artificial air that circulated throughout the mall. 

“No,” he said it too quickly. But that was the thing; Billy might go. He was volatile, like a tea kettle almost boiling over. He would go, inexplicably, angry or annoyed or, worse, bored. He’d leave without a word and Steve wouldn’t hear from him for several days. But he’d always come back, sneaking late night to Steve’s house and pulling Steve against him as if he’d never left in the first place. 

“Good.” Billy’s breath hitched, and he fumbled with Steve sailor shorts, before getting those to fall around Steve’s pale ankles. “‘Cause we only have a few minutes and my throat’s been itching all day.”

Steve lips parted, about to ask what Billy meant, but Billy caught him by surprise with a quick kiss on the lips. 

And then he was gone, bare knees on the cold floor, sliding Steve’s underwear down too and taking Steve, painfully hard, in his mouth, sucking him off as if Steve really were his own private brand of oxygen. 

Steve gasped and his head feel back against the wall. He pushed his fingers roughly through Billy’s hair, pulling himself deeper. Billy made a muffled sound deep in his throat that Steve felt all the way to the tips of his toes. 

Above their heads, a dim light bulb hung from the ceiling, flickering. Steve blinked, the quick and uncharacteristic kiss was fading fast from his lips. Somewhere in the back of his brain, if you hacked away to get to it through the blissful pleasure that orbited around Billy between his thighs, he wondered at the kiss, confused more than anything, because that was not something they did, never a kiss for the sake of a kiss. 

Billy brought Steve back to attention with a flick of his tongue, and Steve forgot everything else, coming seconds later with a soft moan. 

Billy stood, swallowing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His lobster red shorts were thin and left nothing to the imagination, and he winked when he caught Steve staring. 

“Come here,” Steve panted. 

“Nah.” Billy shook his head, tucking himself into his shorts. He was smiling, small and delicate, not the smirk that Steve was used to, but a real, natural smile that didn’t look forced. Uncharacteristic, again. 

Steve hastily pulled up his shorts, breathing heavy still. “You’re leaving like that? What, you came here to do some shopping?”

“I’m fine,” Billy snorted. He licked his thumb, rubbing at a wet spot soaking into his shorts. “Just wanted to see you.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Billy, a beat later, seemed to realize what he’d said and froze, the smile disappearing from his face. 

“Huh?” Steve said stupidly, but he was caught off guard again in this short interaction. Billy never said anything like that, not with Steve at least, not with whatever it was they had. 

“Nothing.” Billy sounded curt, and his brow knotted together in that angry line, which meant he’d be storming away without explanation any minute now. 

“Forget it. See you around.” As if on cue, he turned on his heel and walked briskly back down the hall, his sandals slapping against the floor and echoing in the tense silence. 

Steve watched him go. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in bewilderment. 


End file.
